


Woke up to a bottle of whisky that wasn't mine (And your number, I hope)

by maliwanhellfire



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Foreign hipster hotty, M/M, Misunderstandings, Wine, and no one is upset by it, hang over induced memory loss, hang overs, implied sex while drunk, it's not a good idea but it wasn't intended by either to be exploitative, they were both drunk, use of casually ableist language, whisky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliwanhellfire/pseuds/maliwanhellfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull wakes up Sunday morning with no idea as to what he did on Saturday night. </p><p>There are some clues, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woke up to a bottle of whisky that wasn't mine (And your number, I hope)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MermAight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermAight/gifts).



> I dedicate this fic to [Merm-aight](http://merm-aight.tumblr.com) Who drew [THIS](http://merm-aight.tumblr.com/post/129563610772/maliwanhellfires-merm-aight-woke-up-to-a) amazing piece of fanart and said it was ok if I wrote a fic for it. I hope you like it, merm. 
> 
>  
> 
> Content warnings: As it says in the tags, this is a fic about drunkeness, and that might be upsetting. Both parties had been drinking, so no one was intending to exploit anyone else, but it's problematic.

Bull hurt his way into consciousness, that’s how he best could describe it. First he wasn’t, and then he was, and what he was, was pure agony concentrated around the head region.

The rest of him felt pretty ok. Probably. He couldn’t tell because the headache was so consuming.

“Nnnnnn,” Bull said. “Nnnnn?”

He cracked his eye and saw bright, happy, hateful daylight. He closed his eye again and mentally appealed to Koslun for a swift death. Koslun did not oblige. That was what happened when you were a lapsed Qunari, though. God stopped listening, and vows of temperance stopped feeling meaningful, and it all funnelled down from there. He wasn’t even sure he’d had a good time.

Bull curled his hands into the sheets and hit his knuckles on something. He tapped his fingers against it, sounded like glass, and then blindly palmed it. It was a bottle, maybe half full. Bull risked opening his eye again, which hurt less the second time, and saw that it was whisky. Not bad whisky either. Next to it was a slip of paper with a phone number on it, but no name.

“What did I _do_?” Bull asked, groaning at the sound of his own voice.

He shifted, slowly, carefully, to the side of the bed, and looked over. There were plastic cups on his floor, opened condom packets, and a pair of silk briefs that were definitely not his size. He had no idea where any of it had come from.

Bull clenched his hand into a fist and held it slightly off the bed anyway. Didn’t matter. Got laid.

 

\---

 

Bull didn’t get up until nature stopped calling and started to holler. He stumbled out of his bedroom, and down the corridor, into his bathroom. He braced himself against the wall with one hand, held onto himself with the other, and then had the most satisfying experience that he’d ever had without edging himself. Unfortunately, his head still hurt like a bitch. He did feel slightly better for having moved rooms. He was much cooler, and out of the sun. The light was less intense… It was relaxing, really...

He woke up with a snort, to the sensation of falling. He braced his legs, and found himself standing next to the toilet, wedding tackle still chilling in the breeze, unimpeded by pants. Bull groaned and shut the toilet lid, deciding it would be better to avoid the sound of the flush, temporarily.

When Bull washed his hands, the bathroom sink looked cleaner than he remembered it, and on its left hand side was a glass of water and two aspirin.

“Aww,” Bull said.

He took them, but he drank slowly. Once he’d finished the glass he poured another one, and held it against his forehead. The man he saw in the mirror looked like crap, and he had a massive bite mark on one shoulder. Once Bull saw it, he could feel it. The wound throbbed, but it was a better pain than the one in his head.

Wasn’t the only one, come to think. Bull turned around and looked at his back in the mirror. There was some light scratch marks on his ass, like someone had been gripping it. Desperately. Trying to guide him. Fuck, he loved it when they did that.

Bull walked back to his room, feeling considerably more steady. He grabbed the slip of paper off his bed, and looked around for his phone. He couldn’t find it, or his trousers. He slipped on a pair of boxers to go looking through the rest of his house.

His living room looked like a bomb had hit it.

His diffusion lamp was bent in the middle, but upright, one of his picture frames was face down, his rug had a dark stain on it that had probably come from the red wine bottle perched on top of it, and his pants were hanging off the ceiling fan. The strange part was that the wine smelt fresh.

Bull bent down to touch it, and his fingers came away wet.

“What?” He said to himself, retrieving his pants and finding his phone in the front pocket.

He sat down on his sofa with a pleased sigh, and unlocked his screen. Humans had a bunch of silly rules about not calling for two days, but he’d never heeded them. It seemed like the sort of thing someone would do when they didn’t want to get laid, or cuddled, or entertained… Whatever floated one’s boat. He typed in the number he’d been left, and waited out the rings until the call picked up.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end said.

It was deep, masculine, and a little plummy. Somewhat hoarse too, which was gratifying. Felt vaguely familiar.  

“Hey, so, I happened to find this number by my bed this morning, thought I might call up and say hello,” Bull said.

Maybe they wouldn’t notice that Bull hadn’t said their name.

There was a moment’s pause, before they replied.

“Don’t call me again,” They said, and then they hung up.

Bull heard the call disconnect, and looked at his phone, disappointed.

“What did I do?” He asked.

And then he called Krem.

 

\---

 

“What did I do?” He asked, when Krem finally picked up.

Who took five missed calls to pick up on a Sunday morning?

“Fuck you,” Krem said, groaning lightly.

“No seriously, what did I do last night?” Bull asked.

“What?”

“I can’t remember anything from yesterday, and I’m getting some mixed signals, so, what did I do?”

“I dunno, you had some drinks at the Tav, and then you went home ridiculously early,” Krem said. “It was lame, Chief.”

“I have claw marks on my ass,” Bull replied.

Krem was silent.

“And a bite mark, on my shoulder,” Bull continued. “No idea how I got it.”

Krem sighed, and Bull could almost physically feel his annoyance, “You ditched us for nookie again, didn’t you?”

“Signs point to yes…” Bull said. “Was I flirting with anyone?”

“No.” Krem said, and then he breathed in sharply.

“What?” Bull asked.

Krem snickered on the other end of the line.

“Seriously, what?”

“Oh, Chief, if you did what I think you did, then you are a stupid asshole and I salute you.”

Bull growled.

“Mixed signals…” Krem said, snorting with laughter.

“They left me their number and aspirin, and… I think they poured red wine on my rug,” Bull said.

“Mmmhmmhmmm,” Krem said. “Hey, Chief?”

“Yessss.”

“You still got that photo on your side table? One from last New Year’s?”

Bull hauled himself up and looked. There were a few pictures of the Chargers, one of him and Ink, from when she was ten, the bowl he put his keys in…

Bull picked up the picture frame that had been placed face down. It was the photo of him smashing his lips into Krem’s cheek while Krem laughed like a jackass. The one from last New Year’s. That one.

“Ah, crap,” Bull said. “I hate this sitcom bullshit.”

“Figured out who it was yet?” Krem asked, sounding very smug.

“No, Krem, no I have not, I have no idea who I…” Bull thought about it.

“Heee,” Krem said.

“Oh, tell me I didn’t,” Bull said, resting his head in his free hand.

“I’m pretty sure you did,” Krem replied, gleefully. “One way to tell though.”

“Yeah, how?” Bull asked.

“Check your recycling for that wine bottle, see if it’s from Claose.”

Bull picked up the bottle from the floor.

“It’s a ‘75 Chateau Rose… From Orlais…”

“In Claose?”

Bull turned the bottle around.

“Yeah, in Claose,” He said.

“I feel so good about my life right now,” Krem replied.

“Claose is in the Orlesian wine region, isn’t it?” Bull asked.

“You know it is.”

“I scored with foreign hipster hotty, didn’t I?”

“You surely did.”

“Foreign hipster hotty thinks I’m a cheating asshole, doesn’t he?”

“Oh yes.”

“He’s already blocked my number, hasn’t he?” Bull asked.

“Knowing that cranky trust fund baby…” Krem said, pausing as if for effect.

Bull sighed.

“Signs point to yes!” Krem said.

Bull hung up.

 

\---

 

Foreign hipster hotty.

 _Foreign hipster hotty_.

Six feet of witty defence mechanisms with an ass like a bubble and a Koslun-damned beauty mark on his cheek. Flawless brown skin, pale eyes, and a curled moustache that should have looked ridiculous, but he somehow made it work. A smiling, charming, arrogant little shit.

Foreign. Hipster. Hotty.

The guy whose name he still didn’t know. The one Bull had spent several weeks passively flirting with.

The one who went to the same coffee shop he did every day before work. The one who wore a suit during the week but dressed like a complete douchebag on the weekends, which Bull knew because he’d seen him a couple times. He was the sort of man who wore scarves.

And, coincidentally, the guy who worked at the same firm as his immigration lawyer. Which Bull also knew, because he’d seen him there, too.

At least he knew where to find him.

 

\---

 

“This is not cute,” Foreign hipster hotty said, glaring at Bull from where he stood, in front of his lawyer’s office.

Foreign hipster hotty was holding a latte, but it wasn’t from their usual café. He’d gone to the shitty chain store two blocks down, instead.

“Yeah, I know,” Bull said. “But I needed to tell you something before this got out of hand.”

“I don’t need to hear anything from you,” FHH replied. “And I’m a professional, so you don’t need to worry about me tampering with your citizenship. Honestly, I’m insulted.”

“This isn’t about that, I know you’re a professional… Assume, you’re a professional… We don’t really know each other that well.”

“Getting more insulted.”

“I’m not dating the guy in the photo,” Bull said. “That’s Krem, he’s my friend. And my employee. He’s sort of my kid, too?”

FHH was still looking defensive, but slightly more vulnerable than he had.

“We have a complex relationship, but we’re not together. And I wanted to tell you as soon as possible, because I didn’t want you to feel taken advantage of.”

“Oh,” FHH said.

“I got him to take a photo actually,” Bull said, pulling out his phone.

“No, no it’s fine, I believe you.”

“No, seriously, look at it, it’s hilarious.”

He held up the screen, and there was Krem, making an obscene gesture and looking very hung over, all while holding a sign saying ‘I’m not dating this asshole’. FHH snorted, covering the laugh with his free hand.

“Ah,” FHH said. “Well, then you have my sincerest apologies. I didn’t exactly behave well.”

“It’s ok,” Bull said.

“No, it’s not,” FHH said. “I’m sorry, Bull. Please send me your cleaning bill, or I can replace the rug. That was awful of me.”

“What about the lamp?” Bull asked.

“You don’t remember? You did that, you were… A little enthusiastic, coming in the door.”

“Oh, right, sorry, slipped my mind,” Bull said.

He gave himself a little pat on the back though, he was a _stallion_.

“Well, if you leave a note with the office, it’ll get sorted out. I’m sorry for inconveniencing you,” FHH said.

FHH started walking towards the doors to his office building, just like that. He looked sheepish, but it was a clear dismissal. Bull lowered his brows.

“That’s it?” Bull said.

FHH turned towards him, “Well, yes.”

“You… Don’t want to reconsider going out sometime?”

FHH’s mouth gaped open a little. It made Bull think of things, but then, most things did.

“I, uh, I didn’t think you’d want to,” FHH said. “I destroyed your rug, I was unreasonable.”

Bull shrugged.

“Yeah but you also left me water and aspirin, and tidied up my bathroom.”

FHH blushed. Bull could tell, even with his complexion.

“And honestly, I like a keen sense of justice in a man,” Bull said.

It _was_ unreasonable behaviour, but FHH was repentant and Bull saw no reason to cut off his own nose to spite his face. It did not hurt that FHH was fucking gorgeous and Bull really wanted to get down with that while they were both sober.

“Alright,” FHH said, smiling sweetly.

“Alright?” Bull asked.

“Alright. How would you feel about coffee?”

“Now? You already have one.”

FHH pulled the travel lid off his cup and poured his drink into the bushes.

“Tasted awful anyway,” FHH said. “I’ll buy. If you have time.”

“Ok,” Bull said. “Sounds good.”

 

\---

 

“My nickname is foreign hipster hotty?” Dorian said.

“Yep,” Bull said.

“I feel like I should be offended, and yet…”

“If you like I can swap out the ‘hotty’ for something more to your liking.”

“No,” Dorian said, laughing a little. “No, it’s fair. Besides, you don’t know what everyone in the office calls you.”

“What do they call me?” Bull asked.

Dorian smiled like a wild thing.

“I’ll tell you later,” He said. “If you’re good.”

Bull growled under his breath. Dorian chuckled and shivered in response.

They didn’t make it into work that day.

Krem was pissed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic now has a little coda/side story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4916233/chapters/11278732).


End file.
